High Anxiety (10 page)

Abigail nodded and put her hand on the doorknob. “Dr. Holly—”

“Call me Kate.”

“Again, I’m sorry if I asked too many questions.”

“Don’t worry about it.” She nodded and closed the door. For some reason, I was relieved to see her leave my office. I pushed the button on my answering machine. I was annoyed that my next patient had canceled. Most therapists charged for a missed session if they didn’t receive a twenty-four-hour notice, and I was tempted to put that policy in place. The machine beeped, and I listened to my next call. It was from my patient Bill Rogers, who suffered from obsessive-compulsive disorder. He claimed he was in crisis and desperately needed to see me. The last call was from Thad, asking me to call him back on his cell phone. Nothing from Jay.

I returned Bill’s call first. He was clearly agitated.

“I just had a cancellation,” I said. “How soon can you be here?”

“Ten minutes.”

“I’ll see you when you get here, then.”

I called Thad. “I’ve had it with Liz Jones,” he said.

Uh-oh, I thought. Thad and I shared a patient with multiple personality disorder. The host personality, Alice Smithers, was a senior accountant and something of a prude. Liz Jones, one of her alternate personalities, was the bad girl in the bunch and had the hots for Thad.

“What happened?” I asked finally.

“She showed up this morning minus her panties. Again,” he added. “I told her she would have to find another psychiatrist.”

“And?”

“She threatened to file a complaint against me for inappropriate sexual behavior.”

“Oh, gur-reat.” I knew Thad was innocent of any wrongdoing. He might be the worst kind of womanizer, but he would never cross the line with a patient.

I would have loved to smack Liz Jones. The only problem was that I’d have to hurt the likable personalities as well. “Maybe she’s just blowing hot air,” I said. “Why don’t you give me a chance to talk to her?” Even as I said it, I wondered if Liz would even “come out” for me. She didn’t like women, but she especially didn’t like me.

“I just left my attorney’s office,” he said. “I have to be prepared for the worst. I can’t let her destroy my reputation.”

I knew it was a serious matter. The mere whisper of any wrongdoing on Thad’s part could devastate his career. “Just let me try to reason with her, okay?” I repeated. “I promise I’ll do everything I can.”

He begrudgingly agreed. He rang off without his usual flirting, which proved how anxious he was. Liz Jones had been a thorn in our sides from the beginning. I hated to lose Thad as the case psychiatrist, because Alice Smithers, the host personality, did not handle change well, and she and I had been making progress. I called Alice’s home number and left a message for her to call me back as soon as possible.

I finally finished my lunch.

I heard a tap at my door. Abigail peeked inside. “May I come in?”

“Yes.”

She stepped inside my office and closed the door. “There’s a guy out front who is acting very weird.”

“That would be Bill Rogers,” I said, getting up and going to the door. I put my hand on the doorknob, but Abigail quickly covered it with hers. I looked up.

“Is he dangerous?” she whispered.

“No, he’s just upset.”

She looked relieved. “Well, while we’re on the topic, what if one of your patients became dangerous and attacked you?”

Her hand felt heavy on mine. “Are you afraid?” I asked.

“No, but I’d like to have a plan in place in case something like that ever happened. I mean, what if a patient went off the deep end and locked your door so that I couldn’t help you? Is there a key?”

I noted the concern in her eyes. Surprisingly enough, there were still people, including my mother, who thought all people in therapy were crazy and/or dangerous. I figured we owed our thanks to Hollywood, which often portrayed psychiatric patients as evil or homicidal.

“
If
it were to happen,” I said, “I would yell for you to call security. The number is listed under “S” in the Rolodex on the desk.” I avoided her question about the key. There was a spare key to my office, but only Mona and I knew where it was. “You really needn’t worry, though. My patients aren’t dangerous. They simply have problems.” I decided not to tell her about George Moss, the nutcase who had brought nitroglycerin into my office, nor would I mention the explosion that followed, since I was responsible for it.

“That makes me feel better,” she said and moved her hand. “Oh, I should probably tell you the guy out front is wearing about a gallon of cologne.”

I opened the door and stepped into the reception area, where I found an impeccably dressed Bill Rogers pacing the floor. He was in his late thirties with a receding hairline. His cologne slapped me in the face.

He stopped pacing. “Oh, Dr. Holly, thank you for agreeing to see me on such short notice,” he said.

I smiled. “No problem.” I motioned him toward my office. “Please come in.”

He hurried in and sat on my sofa. I didn’t bother to grab his file; instead, I quickly took the chair beside him.

“What has you so upset?” I asked, wishing I could throw open a window and let some air in.

Bill began wringing his hands, and I noted they were chapped as usual, from so much washing. “It was a nightmare,” he said, his voice trembling. “I had to inspect a sewage treatment plant early this morning.”

Bill worked for OSHA and investigated complaints of possible safety hazards. “And?” I said.

“I slipped and fell in a vat of excrement.”

I blinked back at him. “But how—”

“It wasn’t properly covered, which is why I was called in to investigate. Any of the employees could have fallen in. I almost drowned, Dr. Holly! I
would
have drowned if a couple of guys hadn’t fished me out.” He covered his face with his hands. “I freaked out. I mean, I totally lost it. I’m sure everybody at that company thinks I’m completely insane. They showed me to a locker room so I could shower. I spent an hour trying to scrub off the germs. They gave me a pair of coveralls to wear home because my clothes were ruined, and—”

“Bill—” I touched his arm. I could see he was in panic mode. Sometimes a simple touch could calm people. “I’m sorry you had to go through that,” I said. “I know it must’ve been awful.”

“Awful doesn’t come close to describing it,” he said. “It was one of the most traumatic experiences I’ve ever been through. I can’t seem to get the smell of sewage off me. I even put on cologne.”

Duh,
I thought.

“I’m afraid I carried some of the germs inside my house, so I sprayed the place with a disinfectant. I used an entire can,” he added, “but I don’t think it was enough. I used another whole can on the inside of my car.”

“Bill?”

“Yeah?”

“Let’s pause and take a couple of deep breaths.” I waited for him to do so. “Okay,” I said gently, “while I know the experience was really hard on you, it’s over. You’re going to be okay.”

He shook his head. “You don’t understand. I’ll never get rid of the germs.”

“You said you showered carefully at the plant.”

“I even cleaned my ears and under my fingernails and toenails. I blew my nose several times.”

“I’m sure you were very thorough. So the odds of you transferring germs to your car and house are very slim, don’t you agree?”

He looked doubtful.

“Plus, you took the added precaution of disinfecting everything.”

“But what if it wasn’t enough?”

“What more do you think you could have done?”

“Maybe I should hire a cleaning crew to come through. I could get my carpets cleaned and take my drapes to the dry cleaners.”

“And after that?” I asked.

“What do you mean?”

“You could move to a different house, and you would still worry that you’d carried the germs from your old place. You could buy a new car, and it wouldn’t be enough.”

He was quiet for a moment. Finally, he nodded. “I know it’s irrational, Dr. Holly, but I’m afraid. Do you think I’ve gone crazy?”

“No. Have you been listening to your relaxation and visualization tapes?”

“Probably not as often as I should.”

It annoyed me that some of my patients frequently had to be forced to take part in their own recovery. It was as if they expected me to wave a magic wand and pronounce them healed. If I had a magic wand, I would have used it on myself long ago.

“Don’t you think you should make time?” I asked coolly. He didn’t respond. “I can’t do it for you, Bill.”

“I’m afraid,” he confessed, “because I know where you’re going with this. Eventually, you’re going to put me in fearful situations. You’re going to make me touch dirt or garbage, or something equally germy.”

“I would never push you to do something like that,” I said, “but if you don’t follow my instructions, I can’t help you.”

“I promise to do better,” he said.

He had calmed down by the time I walked him out half an hour later. From the corner of my eye, I saw Abigail snatch a couple of tissues from a box and press them to her nose. Bill didn’t miss it; in fact, he looked stricken.

“Oh, no!” he said. “I thought I had managed to scrub off the foul odor. I have to go home and take another shower.” He threw open the reception room door and shot out like a bottle rocket.

“Bill, wait!” I called, wanting to tell him it was his cologne and not the sewage smell he imagined, but he crossed the hall and walked straight into an open elevator filled with passengers who stepped as far away from him as they could. Obviously, he noticed. He seemed to shrink inside himself as the doors closed.

I reentered my reception room and found Abigail standing there wearing a guilty look. “I’m so sorry,” she said. “It’s just that I’m very sensitive to smells, and I was getting nauseous. Was he trying to come on to you or something?”

“No. Why do you ask?”

“I thought maybe that’s why he put on so much cologne. I’ll bet half your patients have a crush on you. I’ll bet they make passes at you all the time.”

I shook my head. “I’m careful to keep boundaries in place,” I said.

Mona called as I was getting ready to leave for the day. “What did your dermatologist say?” I asked.

“He agreed it looks like I have hives, but he didn’t understand why the medicines weren’t helping. I told him it was getting worse. He sent me straight to an allergist, who performed all these scratch tests on me. I’m allergic to cat dander, chicken feathers, latex, and other stuff that I haven’t even been around. Long story short, he chalked it up to stress and gave me a couple of prescriptions, but if you ask me, I don’t think he knew any more than the dermatologist.”

“I know this must be frustrating for you.”

She gave a huge sigh. “Well, the real reason I’m calling is to see if you planned to stay here again tonight.”

I heard the hopefulness in her voice. “I’ll be happy to stay if you want me to,” I said.

“You’re just saying that because you feel sorry for me,” she said. “Because you suspect I will be disfigured before it’s over.”

“You are
not
going to be scarred or disfigured,” I said a little more forcefully than I’d intended. Abigail peeked into my office. “I have to go,” I told Mona. “It’ll be at least an hour before I can get there. I need to run by the house and grab Mike and a change of clothes. How about I stop by our favorite Chinese place on the way?”

“That would be great.”

“Do you have chocolate in the house?”

“Have you ever known me not to?”

“Sorry, I forgot who I was talking to for a minute.”

I hung up. Abigail smiled. “I’ll bet that was Mona. Sounds like you guys are planning a big evening. I miss not having a best friend.”

“I’m sure you’ll meet a lot of new friends,” I said, grabbing my purse from my bottom desk drawer.

Her smile faded. “I don’t think I could ever trust anyone to get that close to me again.”

I didn’t respond, mainly because I did not want to encourage Abigail into thinking it was okay to tell me all her personal problems, which some people tended to do when they learned I was a psychologist. Also, instinct told me that Abigail probably had more problems than most. Instead, I went about locking my files and drawers.

“Do you want me to come back in the morning?” she asked.

I glanced up. She seemed to be holding her breath. “That was the plan I worked out with the temp agency,” I said, surprised that she would ask. “I told them I’d need someone until my receptionist returned.”

Abigail looked relieved.

 

 

My telephone was
ringing as I walked through my front door. My mother was on the other end of the line.

“How did the temp girl work out?” she asked.

“Not bad, considering it was her first day,” I said, deciding it was best to leave out the part about Abigail being a little weird.

“Well, that makes me feel better,” she said. “Have you heard from Mona?”

“She claims her rash has worsened.”

My mother gave a grunt. “That woman spends too much time worrying about her looks. She won’t always be young and beautiful.”

“Please promise me you’ll never tell her that.”

“I have more important things on my mind,” she said. “Now, you know I’m not one to interfere with your life, but I’ve been doing a lot of thinking.”

Just hearing those words sent a shudder of fear through me. “Yeah?”

“I know you’re concerned about Jay, and I have always found that prayer helps me through difficult times. I’m not trying to preach to you, but I don’t like that you’ve strayed from your faith.”

I pressed the ball of my hand against my head. Just what I needed, another Bitsy Stout in my life. “Mom, I’m not an atheist, okay?”

Silence at first. “If you say so.”